


My Heart, My Miracle.

by irisqod



Series: My Heart, My Miracle [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Honeymoon, M/M, Shower Sex, Vows, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:31:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisqod/pseuds/irisqod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why should brides have all the fun?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What, Me Nervous?

“Are you nervous?” Sherlock slid down to the end of the bed where John was sitting and wrapped himself around his doctor.

“Yes. I don’t know why I should be. People do this every day, right?” he leaned back into Sherlock’s embrace and the detective kissed his cheek. “Good morning, by the way. What time is it?”

Sherlock glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “A little past eight. We have plenty of time. Mycroft is sending a car for us at 10:30.”

“I guess we should eat something, I’m not really hungry though.” John got up and went to the bathroom to put on his robe. He brought Sherlock’s back with him. “Here, put this on and I’ll make us some tea. Might calm my nerves a bit.”

Sherlock got up, put on his dressing gown and went to his closet. Two impeccably tailored suits hung there, waiting. They had chosen what they would wear and kept it secret from each other.

Why should brides have all the fun?

He unzipped the garment bag that held his. It was a dark charcoal grey Spencer Hart, with a narrow lapel, narrow trousers and a midnight blue shirt. Sherlock chose the shirt to match John’s blue eyes. He checked the pocket to make sure the ring was still there. John didn’t know about the ring; it was going to be Sherlock’s wedding gift to him.

John called from the kitchen, “Kettle’s boiled, are you coming?” Sherlock re-zipped the bag and went to the kitchen to join his fiancé.

John had made toast, “I think it’s all I can eat.” He looked pale. “I guess I’m more nervous than I thought.” He smiled at Sherlock who was his usual stoic self.

“You’ve been shot and had a bomb strapped to you. Standing in front of a few people to tell them you love me and want to grow old with me? You’ll do fine.” Sherlock smiled back.

“I’m spending the rest of my life with Sherlock Holmes. Does that make me a nutter?”

“Of course it does.” Sherlock rose and kissed John’s temple. Looking down he said, “I’m marrying an ex-army doctor who is a crack-shot adrenaline junkie with nerves of steel. And a fantastic shag. What does that make me?” 

“Brilliant.” John hugged Sherlock around the waist and buried his face in the soft silk dressing gown. Sherlock laughed and John could feel the rumble of it. “Go shower.” He released his grip and gave Sherlock a little push in the direction of their room.

Once he heard the shower running he got up to look at his suit, just one more time before he had to put it on. He’d chosen a simple black one, it was understated but easily the dressiest thing he’d ever owned. The shirt and tie were both a dark purple. In the inside pocket was a ring he’d purchased without Sherlock’s knowledge. It was his wedding gift to Sherlock.

He zipped up the bag and went to join Sherlock in the shower.

“Shouldn’t we wait till the wedding night?” Sherlock asked when John stepped into the shower and wrapped an arm around him.

“Oh, the ship has sailed on that tradition, love.” John replied and pressed himself against Sherlock’s back.

To be continued…


	2. In The Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John pressed against Sherlock and ran his hands over the soap-slicked skin on his chest. “Turn around. I need to get clean too you know.”

The water in the shower was warm and they did have plenty of time before the car would arrive to take them to Sussex.

John pressed against Sherlock and ran his hands over the soap-slicked skin on his chest. “Turn around. I need to get clean too you know.”

“Bossy.” Sherlock said, but turned so that John could stand under the warm spray.

John made himself a liar by picking up the shampoo and telling Sherlock, “Tilt your head back and get your hair wetter.” Sherlock leaned back over John and stuck his head under the shower spigot. The water tamed the wild curls and ran in pretty rivers down the planes of Sherlock’s back. 

John squeezed some shampoo into his hand and worked his palms together. “Let me wash your hair.” He reached up and smooth the shampoo over Sherlock’s glossy dark hair. People thought it was black, but John knew better. It was the darkest auburn he’d ever seen.

“Gorgeous. Women would kill for this head of hair, you know.” His fingernails were just long enough to scratch Sherlock’s scalp pleasantly as he worked up a good lather. Sherlock leaned back into John’s touch and purred.

“Okay, rinse.” John stepped out of his way.

“Bossy,” Sherlock said again, but complied and stepped farther back into the spray. The bubbles ran down over his chest where John’s dog tags lay against his skin and finally into his pubic hair.

“Gorgeous,” John said again and reached out to touch his lover penis.

Sherlock’s eyes were closed and he jumped a little at the touch.

“Grabby,” he said with a smile.

“Shut up, you know you love it.” John rose up on tiptoe to kiss his lips. His hands were still slick and covered in bubbles. He took Sherlock in hand and gave him a gentle tug. “You’re hair’s rinsed, come here.”

Sherlock stepped out of the water and wiped his face. He put his arms around John and held him close. John had one hand on Sherlock’s penis and the other was now cupping his balls. 

“That’s nice.” Sherlock was starting to harden in John’s hand. The slip-slide from the shampoo was helping. He could feel John’s cock getting hard against his thigh.

“Turn ‘round.” John asked. Sex in the shower was never an easy thing. There was no good lube – soap or shampoo was not an option if he was going to attempt penetration – and Sherlock was too damned tall. So, he settled for just a little soap and thrusting his now hard cock between Sherlock’s thighs. Sherlock responded by squeezing his legs together.

John hissed and started to pump his hips. He could hear his dog tags as they swung away from Sherlock’s body and slapped back against his chest.  
Sherlock was holding his own cock and letting John’s thrusts help drive his prick into his hand. He reached up and braced himself on the tiles with the other arm.

“So bloody gorgeous.” John was starting to snap his hips and his thighs were slapping against Sherlock’s. He raked his fingers down Sherlock’s back and across his hips, admiring the red streaks he left behind. 

Sherlock was working his cock and pushing back into John. He rested his forehead on the tiles. “I’m close, John. Please.” John gripped Sherlock’s hips and began to hammer himself between Sherlock’s thighs.

“Good Christ, Sherlock.” John’s breath was ragged and his cock incredibly hard. It was making rather obscene sucking sounds on each of his backstrokes. That turned him on as much as the steady moaning coming from Sherlock.

“Oh, yes. Yesyesyes.” John came in a rush and Sherlock followed, shouting John’s name and a string of expletives.

John hugged Sherlock from behind with both arms and giggled.

“What’s funny?” Sherlock asked. 

“I just had a really fantastic wank. With the groom. Before the wedding. In the shower.” He laughed some more.

“Well, it makes the cleanup much easier,” Sherlock replied. “Its very practical.”

This sent John into gales of laughter. “Let’s get cleaned up and go get married.”

 

To be contined…


	3. The Vows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wait a minute. Did your brother just threaten me?” John looked at Sherlock, who was still smirking. "Because ‘be good to him’ sounds an awful lot like ‘hurt him and I’ll have your legs broken’ to me.”

After they finished their shower, and much preening on Sherlock’s part, they were ready to go. 

The car arrived precisely at 10:30 am. It was black, low-slung and sleek. The driver carried the groom’s cases downstairs and the grooms each carried their own garment bags. Once the luggage was stowed neatly in the boot, they got into the backseat.

Sitting on one of the seats was an envelope. Sherlock picked it up and turned it over in his hands.

“What is it?” Inquired John.

“I don’t know.” Sherlock tore open the envelope and two tickets fell out onto his lap. John picked them up as Sherlock withdrew the letter that was inside. He read aloud:

‘Dear Sherlock and John,

Please accept these rail tickets for passage on the Eurostar to France. There will be a car at your disposal upon your arrival. Also, the Eiffel Suite Art Deco at the Hotel Plaza Anthenee in Paris has been reserved for you in the name of “Watson-Holmes”. The suite is yours for the week. This is my wedding gift to you.

Sherlock, John is the best thing to happen to you; treat him as such.  
John, Sherlock may be an adult, but he is still my baby brother. Be good to him.

Best regards on your marriage,

\- Mycroft.

P.S. I will endeavor to not start a war prior to your departure. I know what it does to the traffic.’

“My God, Sherlock. A suite at the Anthenee? What must that cost?” 

“You don’t want to know.” Sherlock smirked. Someone must owe Mycroft a favor.

John took the letter and read it over again. “Wait a minute. Did your brother just threaten me?” John looked at Sherlock, who was still smirking. "Because ‘be good to him’ sounds an awful lot like ‘hurt him and I’ll have your legs broken’ to me.”

“Don’t worry, I know you won’t.” Sherlock took the letter from John and kissed his hand.

 

The drive to East Sussex took just under two hours. Sherlock and John took the time to put the finishing touches on their vows. They decided against the traditional service because, it didn’t do justice to how they felt for each other.

The ceremony was scheduled for one o’clock and they had just enough time to go to separate rooms and get ready. 

The few guests were arriving. Greg had driven Molly and Mrs. Hudson down. He was paying more than a little attention to Molly, who looked lovely. Harry was there on her own, and sober. Mike, their “matchmaker” was there too with his wife, Patricia. Mycroft was there as was Anthea. It seemed he couldn’t go anywhere without her. Angelo was in attendance and was catering the affair. Even Sally Donovan was there. She and Anderson were no longer together, if they really ever were, so she had no one as her plus-one. They were all outside the cottage in the garden.

The garden had been set up with a few chairs for guests. There was a rose covered covered gate in a stone wall where the grooms would stand to exchange their vows. It was spring and the garden was in full bloom. Sherlock had hired a violinist to play for the ceremony. 

Promptly at one, the minister called the guests to their seats and the violinist started to play Bach’s Fugue in G Minor from the Sonata BWV 1001. Only Sherlock Holmes would pick a fugue as wedding music. But it was perfect.

The men came out of the cottage and linked hands. Smiling they came across the garden to stand in front of the rose covered gate.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have come here today to witness the joining of these two men in the eyes of the law and to celebrate the alliance they have formed in their hearts. They have written their own vows, so please John, If you would like to begin?”

John cleared his throat, took a breath and said what was in his heart:

“Sherlock, I never knew that I was missing anything in my life, until I met you. You found me at my lowest point and brought me out of the dark. I’d been waiting for a miracle. I didn’t know it at the time we met. I only realized it after I thought you’d left me forever. I asked for a miracle then, and after waiting nearly 3 years, I got my miracle. And now, after waiting just a bit more I am standing here with you, in front of our friends and family to say that, Sherlock Holmes, you are my miracle. I love you. I can tolerate body parts in the refrigerator when there should be milk, I can put up with burn marks on my floor, I can handle you dragging me out of bed to chase all over London in the middle of the night, God, I even let you varnish my nails once. I can put up will all of that because I love you. As long as you are there with me, I can handle anything that life can throw at me. Be my love. Be my miracle, always.” 

There were tears flowing down John’s cheeks by the time he finished, but his voice never faltered. The tears weren’t exclusive to the groom: Mrs. Hudson pulled a hanky from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. She took out another and passed it to Molly. Greg took her hand quietly and gave it a gentle squeeze.

A transformation had taken place on Sherlock’s face while John said his vows. The imperious look melted away and his features relaxed. The internal turmoil that was constant in his brain stilled and the moment came down to just John. His John. John who loved him now and would love him forever. Sherlock looked younger and at peace with himself.

Sherlock took John’s hands in his and began:

“People might think that I don’t have a heart. And they’d be correct because I don’t. You have it, John. You didn’t know it, but I gave it to you that day at Bart’s. I trusted you to keep it safe and loved and protected while I was gone. I never want to be parted from it again. John Hamish Watson, you are my heart. I promise to work by your side to create a life that we can cherish and be proud of. I promise to always be there for you, to shelter and hold your love as the most precious gift in my life, and grow old by your side as your lover and your best friend. I swear in front of these people that I will love you for the rest of my days.” 

Sherlock finished and wiped a tear off of John’s face.

The minister spoke up, “Marriage is not something to be taken lightly. These men have made the commitment to each other to love and honor the bond they have created together. This ceremony is taking place today so that you may all be a witness to that bond and so that you can hold them accountable to their vows.” 

“John and Sherlock, do you take each other to be husbands in the eyes of the law, respect each other as individuals as well as a couple, to uphold the vows you have made here today to love, comfort and challenge each other?”

And they both answered in unison, “We do.”

“Wonderful,“ the minister said. “I understand there will not be an exchange of rings…”

At this both men said, “Wait!” and looked at each other with confusion.

“Did you?”

“But you said…”

And then in unison again, “I bought you a ring.”

“Well, then. Gentlemen, please continue.”

John took the ring out of his pocket and turned to Sherlock. Taking his hand he slipped the ring onto the slender finger and said, “I give you this ring as a symbol of my love for you. Look at it and know that I am always by your side and that I will always be a faithful partner to you.” He placed a kiss on the ring and released Sherlock’s hand.

Sherlock removed the ring from his pocket and turned it over in his hand a few times and spoke, “This ring is a visible symbol of my promise to be with you, for as long as I live. With this ring, I thee wed. As it encircles your finger,” he placed the ring on John’s hand, “May it remind you always that you are surrounded by my enduring love.”

They remained facing each other, holding hands.

“Wedding rings are made precious by your wearing them. Your rings say that even in your uniqueness you have chosen to be bound together. They will be a symbol that love has substance as well as soul, a present as well as a past, and that, despite its occasional sorrows, love is a circle with no beginning and no end. Let these rings remind you always of the vows you have taken here today.”

The minister concluded with, “By the power vested in me by the East Sussex County Council, I hereby pronounce you husband and husband. Gentlemen, you may kiss your groom.”

The new husbands reached for each other and kissed. Sherlock placed his left hand on John’s face and John let his hands wander to the back of Sherlock’s neck. The kiss was light, at first, but soon deepened to something more. John pressed his tongue to his husband’s full lips and licked, asking to be let in. Tongues and lips slid in a give and take that was comfortable and known, but also new. This was their first kiss as married men. Arms went around waists and shoulders as the men seemingly tried to press himself physically into the other. 

“Ahem,” the minister stopped them before they could start to grind and grope each other in front of polite company. They parted and Sherlock wiped his thumb over John’s bottom lip and smiled at him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Doctor and Mister Watson-Holmes.”

The guests rose to their feet and applauded.

“I always cry at weddings.” Sniffed Mrs. Hudson.

“Me too.” Sniffed Molly. Greg was still holding her hand.

Angelo cheered, Mike whistled and hugged his wife. Mycroft looked mildly annoyed. “I’m sorry sir, who did your brother marry?” Anthea was her usual blackberry engrossed self. Sally smiled to herself. She was secretly pleased that the Freak had found someone who knew what he was in for.

The newly weds strode back through the garden to the cottage, still holding hands and by the time they reached the house they were almost running.

“Stop, Mr. Watson-Holmes and let me kiss you again.”

“Is that an order Dr. Watson-Holmes?”

“You bet that lush bum of yours it is.”

 

To be continued…  
(That is too say “honeymoon shenanigans” folks)


	4. Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe he was just completely turned on by being in Paris with his new husband. Whatever the case, the dirty talk flowed out of him in a filthy, sexy river.

“Oui, messieurs, puis-je vous aider?” 

“Parlez-vous Anglais?” John dug through his brain for the little bit of French he’d learned in school.

“Oui, sorry, yes. May I help you sirs?” The desk clerk at the Hotel Plaza Anthenee looked at the newly weds and waited.

“Vous avez une réservation pour Watson-Holmes.” Sherlock answered.

“Show off,” John muttered under his breath. Of course Sherlock speaks French.

“Oui. You are booked for the week in the Eiffel Tower Art Deco suite. I will have the bellman bring up your bags.” He rang the bell and the man appeared seemingly from thin air. The desk clerk handed over the keys to the suite and the bellman collected the few bags that John and Sherlock had.

“Follow me, s'il vous plait.” And he headed for the lifts. John took Sherlock by the hand and they followed.

Once the lift doors had closed, John started whispering a steady stream of the dirtiest things he could think of in Sherlock’s ear. Maybe he’d had a bit too much champagne in the chauffeured car Mycroft had arranged for. Maybe he was just completely turned on by being in Paris with his new husband. Whatever the case, the dirty talk flowed out of him in a filthy, sexy river.

“I can’t wait to get your clothes off of you, I am going to put my mouth on every inch of that glorious pale skin of yours. Every. Single. Inch.” He poked his tongue out and licked at Sherlock’s neck. “That’s 4 or 5 inches done.” Nuzzled up against Sherlock, he reached down and palmed his husband’s crotch. “Oh, that’s lovely. Getting hard for me already? Lovely. There are several more inches I want to lick here.” He gave Sherlock’s swelling prick a rather rough squeeze.

“Aah, John,” Sherlock pressed himself forward into the touch.

“I want to devour that gorgeous prick of yours. I want to take all of it. I want to feel you against my tongue and the back of my throat.”

Sherlock groaned and dropped his head to rest on John’s shoulder.

The bellman pretended he didn’t see them and that he didn’t understand Anglais.

“I want to bury myself in you, get balls deep in that lush arse and drive you mad. You are going to be so tight. I’m going to have you gasping my name as you come.” He gripped the lush arse in question, “So perfect.”

“Johhhn.” He was already gasping.

John was grinding his own erection into Sherlock’s lean thigh. “Can you feel what you do to me? I’m hard as a rock and I am starting to get wet for you. No one has ever turned me on the way you do. Just the sound of your voice is enough to get me hard.” He was still grinding away, totally uncaring that the bellman was there.

“God, Sherlock, I want to _fuck_ you. I’m going to take my goddamned _time_ while I fuck you.” John sighed into Sherlock’s ear. “I want to hear you come, I want to feel you come with my prick inside you. Its hot inside you; I can feel your pulse around me when I’m in you and that is so _very_ hot.”

The chime alerted them that the lift had arrived on their floor. As the doors opened, the bellman made a hasty exit with another “Follow me, s'il vous plait” and all but ran down the corridor. The sooner he was away from these two the sooner he could go visit the chambermaid he’d been seeing on the side and practice his new English vocabulary on her, see if the dirty words worked on Yvette as well as they did on the tall elegant man in the lift.

Once they had reached their room, John shoved a handful of Euros at the bellman and slammed the door after him. 

Sherlock was standing in the middle of the suite facing out the window, which framed the Eiffel Tower. He felt John step up behind him, wrap his right arm around him and undo the button on his suit jacket. “I want you naked.” He then reached up and gripped the lapels in his hands and yanked it off the slender shoulders and arms of his love hard enough to turn the sleeves inside out. The jacket was flung on the floor as John circled around to Sherlock’s front and didn’t even try to undo the buttons on the shirt. He simply ripped the front open and tore it off. It landed on top of the jacket. John added his own jacket and shirt.

“John, you’ve ruined my shirt,” Sherlock tried to protest. 

“Fuck the damned shirt, have the fucking concierge get you a new one. Charge it to your brother. I want to feel your skin, I want to taste your skin.” John growled as he grabbed Sherlock by the belt buckle, pulling him into a fierce kiss. He drew Sherlock’s tongue into his mouth and sucked hard enough to bruise it. John brought his hand up to caress Sherlock’s neck and Sherlock placed his hand on John’s arse and drew him closer. They were both frotting away like mad.

“God, I want your cock in my mouth,“ he was working at getting the belt off and the trousers down. Sherlock groaned, and toed his shoes off.

Soon the trousers, pants and socks joined the rumpled heap of expensive, bespoke clothing on the floor of the suite.

“Oh my God, Sherlock, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Freckles scattered over the skin on his chest like earth bound constellations. John ran his hands over the pale skin on Sherlock’s chest, passing his thumbs over the nipples. Sherlock gasped, so John pinched them lightly. “So sensitive. I love that.” He licked one then the other, lingering to get the pink flesh to harden under his touch. He sucked each in turn and had Sherlock’s pulse racing and cock throbbing. “You taste perfect. I can’t wait to taste all of you.”

“If you want to taste me, love, please suck me.” John dropped to his knees with a resounding thump in spite of the thick carpeting. 

He started at Sherlock’s feet and moved up the long legs, placing kisses on each as he went until he reached the place where they joined. With his hands on his love’s smooth hips he licked a stripe up and down the underside of Sherlock’s shaft before taking it into his mouth. Sherlock placed his hands on John’s head and tangled his fingers in the blonde hair. John used a light grip to pull the foreskin down and he let his tongue circle around the head several times. It was sweet and salty at the same time. Sherlock’s hips bucked and he thrust into John’s mouth.

“Sorry, but that feels wonderful.”

“No, its fine. If you want to fuck my mouth, that is perfectly fine with me.” John gave him a wicked grin and went back to work on Sherlock’s prick, his cheeks hollowing with his pleasurable efforts. Sherlock did tighten his grip in John’s hair but didn’t try to force himself down John’s throat; John was doing a fine job of that on his own.

John had moved one of his hands to hold Sherlock’s balls, letting his fingers curl around them to tickle his perineum. His other hand reached up to Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock took the offered hand and sucked two of the fingers into his mouth. It was John’s turn to groan and that made Sherlock jump.

Taking back his hand, John reached between Sherlock’s arse cheeks and found the sensitive hole there. He used his slicked fingers to tease the opening. He took his mouth off of Sherlock, stood up and spun him around to face the bed. With a hand on the small of his back, John guided him to the edge and had him lay down.

“Stay here a moment, love. I’ll be right back.” John passed a hand down the soft skin on Sherlock’s inner thigh. He went to the bathroom with his dop kit and got out a little bottle of lube, which he tossed onto the bed next to Sherlock, along with a towel he’d brought with him.

Sherlock watched as John removed the remainder of his clothing. He reached for the lube and opened it, smearing some on his hand. John’s attention was focused on getting his shoes off and not on what was happening on the bed. When he looked up, finally, the sight before him rendered him momentarily speechless.

Sherlock had slicked his fingers and was working them into himself, while the other hand pumped his cock lazily. His usually laser sharp gaze was glassy from the sensations John had given him and by what he was doing to himself. 

“Dear God, Sherlock. That is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” John licked his lips, but didn’t move. He was rooted to the spot. Sherlock took his hand off his cock and beckoned for his husband to come to the bed. The wanton look on Sherlock’s face broke the paralysis and got John’s feet moving.

John settled on the bed between the pale legs that were spread open for him and stroked them. He placed a hand under each knee and pushed them up towards the alabaster chest. He removed the elegant fingers from their position. “Oh my God, you are going to kill me one day.” He cleaned Sherlock up with the towel and went back to work with his mouth. Kissing and licking at Sherlock’s balls and perineum, trying to make good on his promise to put his mouth on every inch of Sherlock’s skin. When the tip of John’s tongue circled the over-sensitive opening, Sherlock nearly screamed.

Both men were achingly hard and the desperation for relief was becoming too much to bear. 

“Please, John, _please_ stop teasing me and fuck me already. I can’t hold off very much more. If you want to feel me come with your prick inside me, you had better get in there soon.” He handed the lube down to John.

John took it and squeezed some out into his palm. “You talk too much, Sherlock.” He smiled as he stroked the slippery gel over himself. The gel was cool and felt good oh his overheated cock.

“I love you,” he said as he lined up. “I love you,” he said as he pressed himself slowly into his love’s body. “I love you,” he said as he pulled back and nearly out again. “Jesus Christ, ‘Lock, you feel so good around me.” John took one of Sherlock’s hands and placed it where they were joined. Sherlock’s intake of breath was all John needed to hear to get him moving.

He plunged in again. And again. He was taking his goddamned time, just like he promised he would. Sherlock wrapped his right leg around John’s hip for better leverage.

John was lost, everything was Sherlock and this moment. He bent forward and let the words pour out of his mouth: endearments, encouragement, and reassurances.  
He punctuated his slow thrusts with “You’re gorgeous, brilliant, mad.” Slide in. “I’ve never wanted any one as much as you,” Slip out. “I’m yours, always.” Brush prostate, “You feel perfect, so perfect.” Pull back, push in. “Ahh, God, fuck.” Retreat. Advance. “Fuuck. Good Christ.” 

Sherlock was writhing under John, tossing his head and arching his long back. He was making a constant rumbling growl that radiated through him and that John could feel in his cock.

John was getting close to climaxing, but he wanted to make good on another promise he had made, so he took Sherlock in hand and began to stroke in time with his hips. Sherlock was dripping wet and so rigid it must be painful.

“Come for me, Sherlock. I want to see you come.” He began to thrust and stroke faster. “I want to hear you. I want to smell it on your skin.” John let go of him.

Sherlock was nodding his assent and took over pumping his cock. “Yes, oh Johhhn.” Sherlock exhaled John’s name and his orgasm rushed to take him. He screamed John’s name and come spurted out over his belly and chest. 

John followed, snapping his hips into Sherlock hard enough to drive him up the bed and into the headboard. He could feel and smell the warm ejaculate between them, slicking them both. He went faster.

“John, I love you,” Sherlock was looking up at John and his expression was that of total trust and open wonder. And that finished John. He came sobbing Sherlock’s name.

Later

Once the endorphin flood had subsided and the men had cleaned up a bit, they snuggled together in the soft bed. John’s compact body tucked into Sherlock’s lithe one. 

Sherlock reached for John’s hand and as their fingers laced, their rings clicked together for the first of thousands of times to come.

“Sherlock, why did you get me this ring?” It was brushed titanium and was set with three small diamonds.

“Because it made me think of you.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the ring. “The diamonds are for your strength, your courage and your faith in me.” He kissed John’s hand.

“And why this ring, John?” Sherlock’s was also titanium but it was a dark band with a center band of lighter metal, and was set with a single diamond.

“I knew it would suit you. For me the diamond represents your singular, brilliant mind.” He kissed Sherlock’s hand in return. “There is an inscription.”

Sherlock worked the ring off and leaned over to the puddle of light thrown on the bed by the light on the bed table. Peering into the ring he read “It’s All Fine – JW”

“Its silly, I know, but when the woman at the jeweler’s asked me what I wanted inscribed, that was the first thing that came to mind.” 

Sherlock kissed John and said “Its from our conversation the first night we went to Angelo’s. Our first case.”

“You said you were married to your work.” John looked a little sad.

“Not anymore. I am married to my love. Work is a mistress we shall share.” He kissed John again. “There is an inscription in your ring, too.”

John took off his ring and rolled to join Sherlock in the light.

“Could Be Dangerous… Love, SH.” He smiled, and put the ring back on.

“Except for when I have to scrub in for surgery, this ring is never leaving my finger. It is perfect.” He chuckled, “Could be dangerous. And here I am. And here I’m going to stay.”


End file.
